Рита Браун - The Hunt Ball

Outside, the darkness contrasted with the false moon inside the Great Hall. Betty and Bobby as well as Crawford and Marty left at ten-thirty, bidding Zorro, who guarded the front doors, good-bye. The kids would dance until midnight, then load up on school buses, go to Hangman’s Ridge, then back to the dorms after an hour there.

The Miller School boys were dazzled by the technical display.

At midnight, the sconces were extinguished. The spider’s eyes glowed in the blackness. She slid down to the center of the web, and from her silkjets came a stream of little sparkly flashlights, which clattered to the floor. The girls who built all this picked them up first and turned them on. Tiny blue lights, red lights, white lights beamed. The other students, now down on their hands and knees, scooped up the lights. Dots of light danced as the spider moved back up to the corner, the witches flew about one last time, jack-o’-lanterns cackled, and the ghosts groaned.

Charlotte and her husband, Carter, stood by the doors to send the revelers off while Bunny Taliaferro and Bill Wheatley rounded them up. Al Perez and Amy Childers, squabbling at low volume, shepherded everyone out to the parking lot.

School buses painted in school colors awaited the kids. The Custis Hall bus was parked immediately behind the Miller School bus. Bill Wheatley was already on the Custis Hall bus.

“Honey, I should be home by one-thirty,” Charlotte said as she kissed Carter on the cheek.

“Oh, what the heck, I’ll go with you.” He grabbed her hand, and they walked to the station wagon as Zorro waved and sprinted by to his car.

As Charlotte settled behind the driver’s seat, she leaned over, kissing Carter on the check. “Thanks, honey.”

She turned on the motor and slowly backed out. As they drove out the winding, tree-lined road they noticed Zorro walking in the opposite direction.

“Al must have forgotten something,” Charlotte smiled. “If he ever lost his Palm Pilot he wouldn’t know his own name. As it is, he usually forgets something. Makes me laugh. At least he can laugh about it, too.”

They glided through the large stone gates, turning onto the state road. Within five minutes they’d turn onto Soldier Road.

Given the darkness of the night and the few cars in front of them it took twenty minutes to reach Hangman’s Ridge from the Soldier Road side. The dark, dank mists hung in the lowlands, covering the last wild roses of the year. Cumulus clouds, gathering in the west, were moving toward the ridge.

“Sister said she’d clean up the bushes on this old road off Soldier Road.” Charlotte held the steering wheel firmly as they bounced in the ruts. “She’s a good sport about this. We didn’t want to come in from the other direction. We’d disturb the hounds.”

“Bet the boys have the usual—spaghetti in pots masquerading as brains, grapes as eyeballs. The boys aren’t as imaginative as the girls. Course, they might surprise me.” Carter watched the clouds move in swiftly, black against black.

“Guts, gore, screams,” Charlotte laughed.

Carter peered up at the sky. “You know, honey, I really do think the damned ridge is haunted.”

“It will be tonight,” she agreed.

Inky, on the far side of the ridge, heard the school buses laboring to climb up the twisting dirt road. Usually she avoided Hangman’s Ridge, but the grinding of gears intrigued her. Who could be negotiating that road this time of night?

As the black fox picked her way through the underbrush, she felt a dip in temperature, a bit of breeze from the west. Hangman’s Ridge ran southeast to northwest and winds would rake its long flat expanse.

The girls jostled behind the boys’ bus.

“How did women wear these things?” Tootie kicked up her skirt. She was dressed as Madame du Barry and made a note never to do that again.

Valentina looked sleek in her Catwoman outfit and Felicity settled on being a witch.

Pamela, two rows back, as Little Bo Beep, touched Tootie on the shoulder with her shepherd’s crook. “You’ll answer to me, you little black sheep.”

Her devotees giggled.

Bill, sitting behind the driver, was unaware of the exchange.

“You’re so tiring,” Tootie called back.

“You’re so chicken,” Pamela replied.

“Shove it.” Valentina, next to Tootie, turned around, speaking over Felicity, immediately behind them.

The buses finally made it to the top, cars behind them. The boys poured out first, darting to the girls’ bus.

“Close your eyes!” Terry Durkin, one of the leaders, told them. There was no need to close their eyes as they were plunged into unrelieved darkness. Charlotte and Carter parked behind the Custis Hall bus. Amy parked behind them. Knute pulled up behind Amy.

As the girls approached the tree they began to peek and turned on their little sparkly flashlights from the black widow.

Felicity screamed as she drew closer. All the girls opened their eyes and screamed at the sight of two corpses hanging from the tree. One was dressed as Lawrence Pollard, the first man hung, in 1702, because of a real estate swindle. The other corpse was dressed as Zorro, wearing the mask.

Only Tootie refused to scream. “Mannequins.”

Valentina peered up. “Yeah.”

Felicity remained frightened. “Zorro looks real.”

“Oh, he does not,” Valentina said. “You are so—”

“Who strung up the second victim?” Terry asked another boy, who shrugged.

Tootie walked under the corpses, followed by Valentina. They pressed their tiny lights upward. The Miller School chaperones assumed the boys had gilded the lily. The boys also assumed one of their number had done so.

Inky stuck her glossy head out from under the mountain laurel. She was fifty yards from the huge tree. The effluvia of a freshly hung human assailed her nostrils. Fresh death. The small muscles that go into rigor mortis first hadn’t even tightened up.

Tootie, directly underneath, could smell him, too. She gazed up into bloodshot eyes bulging through the openings in the silk mask. This was no fake.

C H A P T E R 7

Delia delivered seven healthy puppies. Sister had fallen asleep sitting on a low chair next to the brood box; a long heat lamp, overhead, glowing with dimmed light.

The dog hounds gave cry when the first screams were heard flying down from Hangman’s Ridge like an arrow of fear.

Sister opened an eye, then closed it again, smiling. She imagined the girls spooked up on the ridge, the Miller School boys proud of their accomplishment. The next set of screams aroused the gyps sleeping out in the toasty large boxes on stilts in the large runs. The boxes had porches, the interiors filled with fresh straw. All the outdoor runs, dotted with spreading old trees, provided room to play or sleep. Younger hounds lived inside the main brick kennels. The arrangement gave each hound plenty of personal space so tempers didn’t flare from overcrowding.

The continued screams awakened everyone.

Again Sister opened an eye, sighed, then opened both eyes. The sound of two sirens in the far distance presaged something terribly wrong. She patted Delia on the head, hurried to the small bathroom off the office, splashed water on her face, dashed outside, hopped into her pickup, and drove up Hangman’s Ridge.

She reached the back side of the ridge just as the sheriff’s squad car crested the Soldier Road side. The blue lights washed over the two hanging corpses. She knew immediately that one of the hanged men was real. Swaying slightly, his back to her, the angle of his neck gave it away. The young people, some crying, stood at their respective buses, the chaperones attempting to comfort the more obviously distressed. Tootie, Valentina, and Pamela also did what they could to help others. Felicity shook like a leaf but was in control of herself. Sister noted the remarkable poise of the three young women. Charlotte and Carter greeted Sheriff Ben Sidel as he stepped out of the car.